“May I speak to you a moment, Mr. Locke?” interrupted a voice.

It was Zita who had entered noiselessly and now stood well within the room.

How long had she been there?  How much had she overheard?  Both Eva and Quentin exchanged worried glances.

Locke rose and went over to Zita, who spoke to him in a whispered undertone.

The matter was so trivial that it hardly warranted her intrusion.  Locke was puzzled.  But he was a man and, therefore, did not understand.  For, as Zita continued, there was a world of longing in her eyes.  She even went so far as to finger the lapel of his coat.

Eva understood only too well, and her face crimsoned.  She bit her lips, and in vexation at Zita her finger-nails pressed into her palms.  Paul’s entrance at this moment was a distinct relief, much as she despised the man.

“What’s all the fuss about?” he inquired.

Paul had a gaiety of manner that he could slip on like a coat, and it was this quality that made him dangerous.  He was popular and attractive.

Paul took Eva’s hand and managed to hold it just the fraction of a second longer than was necessary to convey friendship.  Then Eva withdrew her hand, but not before Locke saw it and scowled.

It was not long before the elder Balcom also arrived.

“Good afternoon, my children,” he greeted, jovially.  “I’m just a bit ahead of time, I imagine.  But why you children don’t leave dry matters of business to us older heads I’m blessed if I know.”

“Mr. Balcom,” retorted Eva, keenly, “the older head that would protect my interests and the interests of those poor inventors lies stricken, as you know, in the room above.  In his absence the children, as you are pleased to call us, will do their best.”

Balcom glared, while Zita with a strange glance toward Eva left Locke and joined Balcom in a far corner of the room.

“Zita,” Balcom whispered, “the time has arrived to take you out of this false position.”

Zita trembled with suppressed excitement as she heard this, and followed Balcom back toward the table, where the others were already seating themselves.

It was approaching the hour, when Eva rose and was about to speak.  Balcom motioned and stopped her with a gesture.

“One moment, please, Miss Brent,” he interrupted.  “Before the others arrive I am going to establish Zita’s real position in this house.”

All at the table looked at one another in openly expressed astonishment.  Zita, with eyes cast down, hands clasped in her lap, seemed almost demure, though about her mouth played a faint smile.

Even Paul did not understand this phase of the conspiracy and looked at his father as much as to say, “I wonder what the old man is up to now?”

Locke was the first to recover his coolness.  “Just what, Mr. Balcom, do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean—­” began Balcom, then stopped.  “But first I will produce a witness who can vouch for all the facts which I am about to relate.”